


Southside Thugs and Academia Don't Mix

by hypernomad



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Future Fic, Gratuitous Smut, Jealousy, M/M, ian is a literary nerd, mickey is a jealous grumpus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1909515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypernomad/pseuds/hypernomad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s probably a very good reason why Ian and Mickey weren’t born so they’d be in the same grade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Southside Thugs and Academia Don't Mix

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Gallavich Week day three, Jealousy.

Mickey is never gambling again.

And it’s sure as shit not because his moral compass has abruptly righted itself and inspired him to begin living by the Ten Commandments or whatever.

Nope. It’s because of _this_ asshole.

“That’s amazing, I never even knew about those!” He – Jason or Justin or whatever the fuck his name is – says, gazing, moon-eyed, at Mickey’s boyfriend like he just shat a flock of doves or something equally miraculous.

“You’re kidding?! Personally I love _Terra Incognita_ and Nabokov’s other short stories more than a lot of his longer novels. Well, I guess it’s a tie between that and _Invitation to a Beheading._ I mean, _Lolita_ is great, but it just pisses me off so much how often people misinterpret it. It drives me crazy!” Ian says, talking animatedly with his hands to their teacher whose eyes drop to the redhead’s beltline more often than Mickey is comfortable with.

“Yeah, it’s so sick how many people apologise for Humbert. The whole point of the story—“ His voice actually slows down and he begins staring off into space as he talks like he’s Stephen Spielberg or some shit, “—is that Humbert is an _unreliable narrator_. Lolita isn’t even real! She’s Humbert’s twisted, idealised image of a person that he projects onto the _real_ Dolores Haze! He…”

This guy is hands-down the biggest fucktwat Mickey has ever met, and there his boyfriend is, hanging onto his every word and nodding in agreement as if everything he’s saying is making perfect sense. Mickey’s been squeezing the empty bottle of coke in his hand rhythmically for the last five minutes as he waits for Ian to stop climbing up their teacher’s ass and return his attention to his boyfriend. Mickey’s so lost in his angry thoughts that he doesn’t notice that the air pressure in the bottle is gradually making it harder and harder for the cap to stay on, and before he can do anything about it, the lid is popping off and firing into the side of Teach’s head.

“…a never-ending cycle of male entitlement—Ow!” Jason/Justin says, rubbing a hand over his ear where the edge of the plastic bottle cap clipped it.

“Mickey,” Ian sighs, running a hand through his hair. Something flutters in Mickey’s chest.

“Ain’t you got a class to be teachin’ or somethin’?” Mickey asks, gesturing to the now-full classroom.

The teacher sighs and glances at Ian. “We’ll talk more after class.” he says, giving Ian a smile and a wink before making his way to the front of the room.

Not for the first time in his life, Mickey wishes he had the ability to make things catch fire just by looking at them, because if he could, Jason/Justin’s head would be ablaze by now.

“What is your fucking problem?” Ian whispers, glaring at him.

“Bourgeois cunts with sideburns down to their ankles and their heads so far up their asses they gotta fart to breathe. Hey look, there’s one!” Mickey says, pointing at their teacher with a mock-surprised expression.

“For once in your life, can you at least _try_ to act like a civilised human being and not the psychotic caveman you are? Am I reaching for the fucking stars here?” Ian hisses back, rounding the table to sit down beside his ass of a boyfriend.

“Nope. No can do.” Mickey says, leaning back in his chair and putting both hands behind his head with a shit-eating grin.

Ian sighs and rolls his eyes.

*

“I still don’t understand why you would ever be deranged enough to put pineapple on a pizza, let alone eat it.” Mickey says, dropping a stray slice of pepperoni into his mouth.

“Excuse you, asshole! Who was it that ate leftover chop suey he left on the counter all night and then bitched about having the explosive shits for the rest of the day?” Ian asks angrily around a mouthful of pineapple pizza. “Who was it that also ate a dusty old cupcake he just _found_ in a hospital waiting room?”

“Alright, I get your point-“

“You might not share my taste in food but I least I know which food is safe to eat and what isn’t.” Ian says, taking another large bite out of his pizza. “And what the fuck was that all about today anyway?”

“What was what?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, let me be more specific about _which_ thing, cause, you know, there were certainly enough to choose from. Hm, let’s see, was it you belching louder than a fucking air-raid siren on the El on the way there? No, that wasn’t it… Was it the way you flipped off the receptionist after she looked at you funny? No, it wasn’t that either…”

Mickey’s trying to hold back his giggles. “This about your boyfriend?”

“That’s right, it’s the way you attacked the guy who’s supposed to be giving us our GEDs!” Ian announces, slapping the table in mock-recognition.

“ _Attacked?”_ Mickey asks incredulously. “Jesus, Ian, if I attacked him, he wouldn’t even be standing right now. At least give me a little credit.”

Ian pouts and flicks the little plastic pizza saver in the middle of the pizza box between them so it flies into Mickey’s shirt, resting his other elbow on the table and chewing sulkily.

“Well that was mature.”

“People in glass houses, asshole.”

Mickey sighs in annoyance. “Alright, I was kind of a dick today. I’m not sorry about it, but I’ll admit it. But you were an even bigger dick, talking about books and shit with that fucking hipster douche while I sat there like a chump. Why’d you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Just... piss off and talk to other people!” Mickey says, his voice rising in pitch and hating how petty he sounds. “It’s always some fucking bourgie, too...”

Ian drops the half-eaten slice of pizza into the box on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose before taking a deep breath. “Look, it’s nothing personal, alright? I love you Mickey, I do, but I also need to talk to other people sometimes, about other stuff!” He explains, exasperated. “There are only so many burping contests and UFC marathons you can take before you need something a little more intellectually stimulating. I like to read and I like to think about stuff that you probably think is stupid. It doesn’t mean I’m not interested in _you_ anymore.”

“Our UFC marathons always get us hot as hell, so I don’t know why you’re complaining about _that_.” Mickey sighs. “Alright, fine,” he replies after Ian gives him a look, “but do you really have to flirt with every single one of them while you’re doing it?”

“I wasn’t flirting!”

“Yes you were!”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“Yeah, you were, he kept staring at your crotch like he was gonna drop to his knees at any minute!”

“Oh, for- Mickey, I can’t help it if people look at me.”

“Yeah, well, don’t worry about it, I ain’t going back there anyway. I didn’t get half of what that asshole was saying. You’ll just have to go back and kiss your boyfriend’s ass on your own.” Mickey replies belligerently, picking up the boxes of half-eaten pizza and taking them out to the kitchen.

“Oh no no no, we had a bet!”

“Oh, did we? I don’t know anything about _that._ ” Mickey replies, filling the sink up with warm water.

“Yeah, we did!” Ian snaps back, glaring at Mickey’s back through the pass-through window before standing up to storm around it and into the kitchen.

“Did we?” Mickey asks, trying to suppress his smirk. “Prove it, dickwad.”

“The one a few weeks ago where you bet me that we’d lose to Ghana and we didn’t, and if you lost, you’d come with me to get your G.E.D. We were going to tutor each other… you help me with Math, I help you with English.” Ian says, getting desperate.

“Huh?” Mickey asks, scrubbing at a plate. “The fuck you talkin’ about?”

“The World Cup.” Ian deadpans, leaning against the fridge.

“I didn’t even know that was on this year.” Mickey says, trying to hide his grin.

Ian’s eyes flash. “We fucking watched the first ten minutes! We got bored and fucked right there on the couch!” He sputters, pointing at their tatty brown sofa through the pass-through.

Mickey furrows his brow, turning his head to look at the redhead with a lopsided half-smirk and a confused expression while scrubbing at a bowl.

“I swear to god, Mickey…” Ian says lowly.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” the brunet finally says, shrugging and turning his attention back to the dishes.

He doesn’t even notice Ian pushing off from the fridge and stalking up behind him until his long arms are suddenly flipping him around and pinning him to the edge of the counter. “You need a reminder, fucker?” Ian whispers lowly, grinding their crotches together. “About how you _squealed_ when I hit your sweet spot and slapped your ass at the same time?” He adds, breathing into Mickey’s ear and brushing his lips against his skin hotly.

Mickey shudders and his cock twitches in his pants, but he doesn’t push away or touch Ian back, he just closes his eyes and bites his lip.

“Don’t you remember?” Ian asks, rubbing a nipple through Mickey’s shirt with his thumb.

Suddenly, Mickey’s shoving Ian away and pinning him against the pantry on the opposite wall, gripping his wrists with his own wet hands against the wood tightly. “A little word of advice, Tropicana. You wanna make bets with a Milkovich? Get it in writing. We don’t play nice.” He said lowly, grinning deviously.

Ian’s eyes are alight in excitement at the rough movement, but then he’s slumping against the pantry in resignation. “Alright, just… let me go, okay? I need the bathroom. Unless you want me pissin’ all over you.”

“That an offer?” Mickey says, his face dead serious.

Ian blinks at him. “Are you serious?” He asks.

Mickey doesn’t reply for a moment. “Jesus, you’re gullible.” He finally says, letting Ian go with a laugh. “Were you getting all excited? Did you really want to piss on me?” Mickey asks, grinning at his lover and tilting his head teasingly.

God, Ian loves him. He’s just not sure that having the urge to throw a brick at his boyfriend is a normal manifestation of that love. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

Mickey laughs and turns around to get a beer out of the fridge. Before he realises what’s happening though, Ian is grabbing him and pinning his front against it, holding his arms around his back.

“You know, Gallaghers don’t play nice either.” He said, his mouth pressed against Mickey’s ear again.

“Yeah, you just play with each other, don’t you? Don’t think I didn’t hear about what Frank did with your older sister. He lives in her trailer with her, right?” Mickey says.

“You think you’re funny, little man?” Ian rubs himself against the older man’s ass.

“Hilarious.” Mickey laughs, pushing his ass back against Ian’s crotch.

“You won’t be laughing when you’ve got an ass full of my tongue and your dick is leaking onto your stomach.” Ian breathes out, licking over Mickey’s ear.

Mickey moans roughly and his cock twitches in his pants, trying to push his hips back against Ian’s dick eagerly.

“So here’s an idea. How do you feel about fucking right over there on our homework? Would you feel better handing it into Justin once your ass cheeks have been all over it?” Ian asks, smiling mischievously.

Mickey laughs and presses back against him. For some reason, the idea is waking up the naughty-high-school-student fantasy he didn’t know he had. It wakes up the sixteen year old inside his twenty-four year old body and replaces memories of skipping class, embarrassed and cagey, because his face was busted up real bad, with an evening spent fooling around with his boyfriend in favour of homework like most teenagers. “Deal.” He finally says, and Ian grins, pulling away to yank his polo shirt off and unbutton his pants.

Mickey unfastens the first few buttons on his shirt before he twists it off, licking the corner of his mouth and not breaking Ian’s gaze. Soon they’re both down to their boxers and Ian is embracing the older man, wrapping his arms around him and brushing their noses together. “Open your mouth,” he whispers. Mickey blinks at him and does as he’s told, parting his lips ever so slightly and then moaning as Ian dips his tongue into it.

They kiss deeply for a few minutes until Mickey gets impatient and rubs his dick against Ian’s through the thin material of their boxers. Glancing down, he grins as Ian works a hickey into his neck and grips his dick tightly, making the redhead groan. When he runs his thumb over the damp spot near the head of his cock, Ian pulls away from his neck to pull the brunet’s underwear down roughly and grab two handfuls of his ass cheeks before roughly slapping one of them.

With a yelp, Mickey rubs his ass and then sighs as he’s taken by the shoulders and lead over to the counter, completely lust-drunk. Ian, as usual, is drunk on power, and he presses himself against Mickey’s back to kiss his neck again. Then, with a smile, he pushes the other man’s upper half forward a bit, pulls his own boxers off, and drops to his knees.

Instinctively, Mickey spreads his legs a little wider and Ian smirks, spreads his cheeks a little and licks over his cleft. Mickey sighs and presses his front fully to the counter top, crossing his arms beneath himself and leans on his elbows. His head is dipped low between his shoulders and he moans lowly as Ian licks and sucks around his hole and over his balls hungrily. Ian groans low in his throat and squeezes the older man’s ass cheeks as his mouth works between the. Mickey arches his back and shudders at the wet noises the redhead is making.

Ian’s dick is straining against his abdomen and he sighs as he jerks it a few times, trying to take some of the pressure off. Making Mickey come apart like this never failed to get him hot, and so after a moment, he firms his tongue and pushes it inside the other man. Mickey lets out a loud moan at the feeling and pushes back against the intrusion, his forehead knocking against his arm softly while the other reaches down to jerk himself off slowly. Ian doesn’t relent; he only fucks his tongue in faster and harder and pulls moans and grunts from the older man above him.

After a few minutes, Ian’s jaw and tongue are aching from his movements. Mickey’s toes are curling tightly against the floor tiles and he feels like he’s about to come, so Ian pulls away and stands up. Planting a trail of kisses up Mickey’s spine, Ian slides two fingers into the older man’s pliant hole and scissors them a few times before pulling his hand away. “Turn around.” He whispers.

Mickey groans and turns around, his expression wrecked. Ian smirks and pulls him against his own body firmly, kissing down his neck and then grabbing the back of his thighs to lift him onto the counter top. Mickey can feel the papers beneath his ass rustling and he shuffles a little until none of the corners are stabbing into his skin. Sighing, he spreads his legs wide and waits for Ian to finish slicking his dick up and press the head of it against his entrance.

Groaning, Mickey’s head knocks against the wall above the pass-through behind him with a soft thud as Ian finally slides inside of him and bottoms out. Ian wraps his arms around the older man’s middle and presses his face to his chest while they get accustomed to the sensation, and then he’s tilting his head up and yanking Mickey closer to him by the hips, making a few papers slip off the counter top.

Smirking and not breaking eye contact with the redhead, Mickey leans back on one arm and wraps his legs around his waist. With a grunt, Ian begins rocking his hips into Mickey’s, slowly at first before gradually picking up the pace until they have a rhythm going and Mickey is gasping out half-formed curses and moans of Ian’s name. Ian bites his lip and furrows his brow, slamming his hips into the brunet and running his hands down his back possessively. Mickey’s head is tilted back until Ian grazes against his sweet spot and then he’s jerking his head up and letting out a sharp grunt.

“Fuck, Mick, you’re so tight,” Ian breathes out, his thrusts unrelenting and his face flushed.

Mickey grins and grips the back of Ian’s neck to kiss him hard and bring their faces close together, their breaths peppering the space between them. Gently, he trails his mouth down to the redhead’s jaw and over his neck to give him the mother of all hickeys. No one is stealing Ian away from him; if they try, they'll have to deal with the author of this baby.

With a grunt, Ian pulls away slightly to put all his energy into fucking Mickey into semi-consciousness. The older man moans and grunts, his legs quivering where they’re tightly pressed against Ian’s body. Mickey’s arm is beginning to ache, so he stretches it out beside him and lays down on the counter, his back resting on the bottom of the pass-through and holding himself up with the other arm bent at the elbow beneath him. The movement causes a couple more papers to flutter to the floor at Ian’s feet and Mickey smirks vindictively.

Letting out a guttural moan, Ian pistons into Mickey harder and harder, hitting his prostate on every thrust. He can feel the familiar coiling sensation in his abdomen begin to build up and desperately, he reaches down to jerk Mickey’s cock a few times before he stops to press their bodies together. Mickey is letting out a constant stream of moans now, his eyes rolling back into his skull while he comes apart at the seams.

It takes two, three, and then four thrusts for Mickey to go spiralling over the edge, his orgasm rushing into him like a tidal wave, sending shock waves up and down his spine and legs and tearing a loud cry from his lungs. His muscles are actually twitching a little bit from the strength of his climax and somehow he’s managed to get cum on his shoulder.

Not long after it subsides, Ian is following him over the precipice, letting out a harsh, guttural moan as he comes hard inside the brunet’s body, his ass cheeks clenching as he thrusts rhythmically into the older man.

Eventually, Ian’s movements stop, and they slump against each other breathlessly. Mickey sighs and his legs loosen around Ian’s waist a bit while he strokes his hair. “Glad you got that out of your system now?” He asks teasingly.

When Ian doesn’t reply, he speaks again. “Hey, Little Mermaid?” He says with a smirk. “You awake down there?”

“Fuck you, calling me that.” Ian snaps, but he’s smiling a little bit anyway. He lifts his head where it was resting against Mickey’s chest. “Are _you_ happy you got your weird little revenge?” He asks.

“I’d be a lot happier if you got the fuck off me. The counter and the wall are pressing into my back and it hurts like a fucking bitch…” He says, swatting at Ian’s shoulders and wriggling.

Ian laughs and sits up straight. “Alright, asshole. I’m moving.” He replies, sitting up and then pulling out of the other boy gently with a hiss.

“Fuck, man I can feel all your spunk inside me.” Mickey giggles, standing up.

“Just the way you like it.” Ian says, laughing and grabbing Mickey by the wrist. “Come on, shower.”

Mickey follows with a charmed grin, glancing back only to laugh at the paperwork all over the floor.


End file.
